Chapter 39
Jack’s wait lasted into the evening. Around eight o’clock, a corrections officer found him in the visitors’ lobby and delivered
the news.
“Your client refuses to come down and speak with you,” he said. “But he asked me to give you this.”
Jack took the envelope, waited for the guard to step away, and then opened it. Inside was a single page from the real-time
transcript of Serena Carpenter’s deposition. Five hours into his wait, Jack had emailed a pdf to the reception desk and asked
the guard to print and hand-deliver a hard copy to Elliott. That one page contained the most disturbing testimony of all from
Serena’s deposition: I told Elle if she went through with the adoption, I would pay for all the treatments she wanted.
If it was true that Elle had sold her baby to pay for gender-affirming treatment, Elliott was the most despicable client Jack
had ever represented—and his list of former clients was a virtual “Despicables Hall of Fame.” Elliott’s response was scrawled
across the transcript page in his handwriting:
LIE! I would never sell my baby for any reason, for any amount of money.
If you have to ask, you shouldn’t be my lawyer. Leave now or you’re fired.
It was the unequivocal denial Jack had hoped to hear from his client in person. Clearly, a face-to-face meeting was not going to happen, and Jack had no reason to believe that Elliott was bluffing about firing him if he didn’t leave. He tucked the paper into his suit pocket and headed to the exit.
Jack had one more post-deposition follow-up that couldn’t wait. All day long, Bonnie’s tech-savvy nephew had been sending
him images recovered from cyberspace, which gave Jack a window into the “relationship” between Elliott’s mother and C. J.
Vandermeer around the time of the adoption. CJ was on the prosecution’s witness list, so Jack had his home address. He drove
to Miami Beach to confront him. A house servant cleared him at the gated entrance to the compound, and CJ met him at the front
door. The smell of fresh paint overwhelmed Jack as he entered the foyer.
“My new girlfriend’s an artist,” CJ explained, as he escorted Jack inside.
Jack was expecting to find a living area that had been converted into an art studio, filled with wet cavasses. Instead, the
living room walls and ceiling had become one big canvas, virtually every square inch covered with large purple circles and
snakelike lines in a variety of colors. A young woman was on a ladder, a can of purple paint in one hand and a brush in the
other.
“Naomi is supertalented,” said CJ. “You can see the influence of Jasper Johns in her work, right?”
The only Jasper Johns painting that Jack could conjure up was his famous Target with Four Faces.
“Definitely,” said Jack, searching for a BS comment that sounded artsy. “Kind of a moving target. Without faces.”
“Exactly,” said CJ, though it was clear that neither he nor Jack had any idea what Jack was talking about. He told his girlfriend
to carry on and led Jack outside to the back patio. They sat at a glass-top table near the infinity pool.
“What did you want to speak to me about?” he asked.
Jack scrolled through his cell phone, selected an image that Bonnie’s nephew had sent him by email, and laid it on the table for CJ’s eyes.
It was one of many showing Serena in hard-party mode with CJ and his posse.
In the center of the photograph was a glass tray with lines of cocaine or some other powdered substance plainly visible.
“I understand that you and Serena Carpenter did a lot of drugs together.”
CJ examined the photograph and smiled. “Fucking Snapchat and its ‘disappearing’ posts. I warn people all the time that these
images never really go away. All somebody needs to do is take a screenshot before it vanishes and repost it.”
“This one is from six years ago. Some months before my client’s baby was born.”
CJ took another look. “Where it all began.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Mr. Swyteck. I know that Serena testified in a deposition today. I’m sure she said I was the one
who introduced her daughter to the Pollards.”
Serena hadn’t been that specific, but Jack rolled with it. “It came up.”
CJ looked off toward the bay with the glittering Miami skyline in the distance. “What is the old saying? ‘No good deed goes
unpunished’?”
“What was your good deed?”
“Serena was a lot of fun. I liked her. One night, she told me her daughter was knocked up and didn’t know what to do. I knew
Owen and his wife were looking to adopt, so I did a nice thing and made the connection. Serena thanked me for my kindness
by hitting us up for a quarter million dollars on the day the baby was born.”
“So, it’s true: You paid the money, not the Pollards.”
“Of course it’s true. I’m not a monster. How could I let Owen and his wife walk out of that hospital without a baby after
I was the one who made the introduction? Serena played that one perfectly.”
The sliding glass door opened. The “artist” poked her head outside. “Do you think it’s too purple?” she asked, a wet paintbrush in hand.
“It’s perfect,” said CJ. “Go for it.”
His approval made her smile. She retreated inside and closed the door.
“Oh, the things I do for an expert blow job,” he said with a deep sigh.
Perhaps it was further insight into the nature of his relationship with Serena Carpenter, but Jack changed the subject.
“Tell me about the gun that Helena’s dog dug up in her yard,” said Jack.
“What about it?”
“It has no serial number. I’m almost certain it came from your facility.”
“Yeah. Helena and I talked about it.”
Jack was taken aback by how forthcoming he was. “Talked about it how?”
He glanced through the sliding glass door, taking in the masterpiece. Then his gaze returned to Jack.
“Look, all of this is going to come out eventually, so I might as well tell you. Yes, the gun came from our facility.”
“That makes sense,” said Jack. “But how can you be sure?”
“Because I gave it to her,” said CJ.
Jack could not hide his reaction. “I don’t know what surprises me more. The fact that you gave her the gun or that you just
admitted it.”
CJ laughed, then turned serious. “You should be surprised. I flat out told Helena I would deny that I gave it to her. But
what’s the point? It’s clear enough now that the truth doesn’t hurt me.”
“What is the truth?”
“I gave her the gun because, from what I saw, Helena needed to start carrying protection with her at all times. Protection
from Owen, I mean.”
“Tell me more about that,” said Jack.
“If you want details, talk to Helena. But it was no secret that the two of them were at war over Austen’s dancing. I should
have never stuck my nose into it, but Owen came to me one day.”
“For advice?”
“I don’t know what for. Maybe just to vent. He was out of control.”
“Over what?”
“Helena started posting pictures of Austen on social media. Pictures of him dancing.”
“Posting on her account?”
“No. She created an account in Austen’s name, and she was managing it for him. It’s something a lot of ballet moms do. Usually
for their daughters, but boys too.”
“Owen didn’t like the photographs, I take it?”
“Didn’t like the photos, but what sent him over the edge was that Austen had over ten thousand followers.”
“A six-year-old boy?”
“Helena was partnering with another dance mom who had a twelve-year-old daughter. But yes—boys, girls, it doesn’t matter.
It’s a bigger investment of time and money than just creating a profile and posting pictures. Some parents hire social media
consultants who help post new ‘stories’ every day. Some even buy followers on a pay-per-click basis to get traction. The key
is that you constantly generate fresh content, you build followers, you start to get sponsorships. Before you know it, a middle
school kid has a hundred thousand followers and is on her way to a six-figure income as an influencer.”
“Was that Helena’s goal for Austen?”
“I don’t know what her goal was. Honestly, I think she was proud of him. But after Owen came to me, I had my tech expert look
into the whole thing. If Owen flipped out over the sheer number of followers, I could only imagine what he would do if he
learned their demographics.”
“Who were they?”
“Ninety percent adult male. Pedophiles, I presume.”
“I hardly think they were Disney talent scouts,” said Jack.
“Truth is, every parent who puts their kid on the internet has to weigh the same pros and cons. On the one hand, the sponsorships
might help pay for college someday. On the other, thousands of creeps all over the world are jerking off to pictures of children
in dance leotards. You just hope the perv doesn’t take it any further than that.”
“Did you tell Owen about this?”
“No way. I told Helena. But I figured Owen would probably find out for himself sooner or later. I truly thought he would lose
it. That’s why I gave Helena the gun to carry in her purse. Again, ‘no good deed goes unpunished.’”
CJ glanced at Naomi through the glass door, and Jack’s gaze followed. She had removed every stitch of clothing and was lying
on the white marble floor, making a snow angel with orange paint.
“Good lord. I wish I wasn’t such a sucker for artists.”
Naomi screamed loud enough to be heard through the glass door. CJ’s cat had run through her snow angel and was oranger than
Garfield.
“Excuse me,” said CJ, and he hurried inside to help with Naomi’s artistic mess.
Jack stayed at the patio table, wondering if anything CJ had so freely shared was true.